collision
by mrsdowneyjunior
Summary: Clara Oswald, nanny of the Charles children, lives next door to the friendly yet mysterious Doctor and Mrs Song. Despite their friendly persona, the nightly arguing suggests a more strained relationship between the pair [probably 11/clara eventually]


**THIS FIC IS DEDICATED TO KAYLA AND MERZY :)**

**I DON'T OWN DOCTOR WHO**

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The arguing never stops.

I so wish they would be quieter as to not keep the children up. They're the excitable sort, and I really don't need them to be awake past their bed time. If the children don't sleep, obviously I have not fulfilled my duties as Charles family nanny, and I don't want to lose my job. It's not that I don't have money, actually my parents left me a large sum of money when they, bless their souls, left this world, but I need to do something with my life. I don't wish to remain a governess my whole life, but you've got to start somewhere, right? And whatever you do in life, you have to make sure you do it well and so that you're proud of it.

That's what my mum always said anyway.

Doctor and Mrs. Song are lovely people. Truly, they are. The sort of couple that are neighbourly and happy to lend you sugar for your tea when you've run out, to avoid you having to duck down to the store. Sometimes, when Mr Charles is out, and the children, Henry and Alice, are home from school, we all make soufflés to give to the Songs next door. The children don't have a mum, you see, so they are quite lacking in the cooking and, well, _fun_, department, if I do say so myself. It's my job, as the nanny, to, by all rights and purposes, actually give them the fun part of their childhood.

And what better way than to teach them the art of the soufflé.

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Usually it is Mrs Song who answers the door to the smiling, cheery children. Alice usually is the one carrying the tray of desserts (she doesn't want her younger brother to drop them accidentally), while I smile and wave from the fence, to which she smiles widely back and invites us all in for afternoon tea, graciously receiving the desserts made for her and her husband by the children (but mostly me, because the children are quite horrid at cooking).

I'm always thankful for this, because the children don't get to see many people outside of school. In fact, if their father knew how regularly I allowed them to visit the Songs, I'm certain I would be out of a job quicker than I could get a word out. I don't want them two beautiful children to become anti-social though; they are well-mannered and good-natured and I can't afford to let them waste that holed up in the house all day. I like that they can practice their social skills on someone other than myself and each other.

Mrs Song has a proper job. She's a very smart woman, even went to university, and works at the gallery. It's her job to tell visitors about various paintings and sculptures: where and when and they were created, and whom they were created by. I don't really have many friends, but I don't know any other woman with a higher paying job. Sometimes I wonder if she makes more money than her husband. Unthinkable, I'm sure, but not unlikely. She has the air of modest intelligence, almost like she could start incoherently babbling about some period of art history, but almost never talks about her work.

Usually she calls her husband down from upstairs to join us for tea. Her husband, Doctor Song, is one of those childish types. Kind of like he never grew up. Despite his immature and curious demeanour, he is very intelligent. He must be – he's a doctor of Physics at the University of Kent. He speaks faster than I do, which I personally find rather impressive, and although have of what he says is absolutely lost on me, he is very friendly and always happy to see us.

He dresses expensively, in a suit slightly small for him in all areas, with braces and a bow tie. Always a bow tie. Never seen him without one. And he wears a raggedy coat with elbow patches. Slightly last century, if you ask me, but I've never been one to keep up with the trends of Society. He looks like he decided on an outfit when he was younger and never again put any effort into his appearance, apart from his differing bow ties. His wife always is wearing a new dress, most likely from an expensive tailor. She's got a new dress on every time I see her. Deep hues of blue and green, and even red, which my mother always told me was too provocative to wear on occasions that don't require upmost formality (which I don't go to very often, I'll be honest). Her hair, unruly and curly, is always let loose, with a small amount of makeup. She gives the air of caring very little about her appearance, although I suspect it contrarily means a great deal to her.

The two never host parties or anything like that. Married to their work, they are (and each other, of course). They try to keep up their appearance, probably due to the amount of money they both earn, but they are never fraternising with any high society that I am aware of. I think it's a testament to their privacy. They are, particularly Mrs Song, quiet private in their affairs. In fact, I'm quite sure that the children and I are the only ones I've ever known to set foot in their house.

The relationship between the couple has always seemed strange to me. First of all, the age difference. Mrs Song could be my mother, age-wise. Not only does she tower over me, but she is one of those types to get more beautiful with maturity, causing her to become more and more dignified and pretty as she ages. The Doctor couldn't be much older than I, with his fresh face and long, skinny frame, over which I'm not sure he has much control. I don't know any other married couples where the man antiquates the woman, and I'm sure the controversy of that alone would enable their exclusion from society. Second of all, they hardly ever see each other. As they both work full days, and they both must commute to their work from Chiswick, which takes quite a while for them both. Thirdly, neither of them seem content. It's almost as if they are coexisting but aren't fully satisfied. Personally, I think it's the age difference, but they never bicker, never make each other laugh, like you read all about in the romance novels. But they also might not be obliged to make too much contact in the presence of the younger children.

The children adore the Songs. I do wonder why they don't have children themselves, since they are so good at entertaining the two from next-door. Maybe they're not cut out for it. It's a big responsibility, after all.

Mrs Song fixes me some tea, and a chocolate drink for them, while the Doctor sneaks them some jam biscuits when he thinks I'm not looking. I never, ever call him out on it though, because the grin on his face when he succeeds in sneaking is too adorable to destroy. I usually sit in the dining room with Mrs Song, talking about the latest show or the recent weather over tea, while the Doctor sits with the kids in the lounge room, telling the newest edition of his spaceman story.

The spaceman is just like us, he says, normal Londoners. He jumps from planet to planet, through space and through time, saving different aliens wherever he goes. Although I know, quite certainly I know, that Mr Charles would in no way approve of the zealous stories that the Doctor tells, I can't stop them. They love this man, this spaceman, too much. To be completely honest, so do I. When we are at a loss for more conversation, Mrs Song and I join the three children in the living room. She always butts in with her own characters; Amelia, Sarah-Jane, Melody, allowing the spaceman some company. The two talk of this spaceman with reverence, almost as if the stories were true. The travels of the space-time man have become the obsession of Henry and Alice. I've always told them to quiet down when their father returns from working, but through the day I just let them get it all out. The figurines included in Henry's wooden train set have become the spaceman and Amelia, travelling throughout the universe in a wooden train. Alice is too old for that (according to Alice), and prefers for the play-people in her dollhouse to personify the characters, as they fly around in their elaborate, plastic bed.

Doctor and Mrs Song are, amidst their pleasantness and avid story-telling, the couple are not without their troubles though. If you ask me, it's the scandalous age difference between the two. She could be my mother's age, and he mine. She could be Henry and Alice's _grandmother_. Of course, they are both of strong personalities. Mrs Song, although she is lovely to me and the children, is a very strong personality. Very trying. Also openly flirtatious, a trait that does not bode well when tied by the bounds of legal marriage. And the Doctor, cheerfully innocent as he is, can be testing with his refusal to grow up. Never ever would he even dream of infidelity, however, although I don't think the same can be said for his wife.

So they yell.

Not all the time, mind you, but enough for it to be a right nuisance anyway. I know it's really not my place, but I feel like I ought to tell them to quiet down. But my upbringing and slight fear of an angry Mrs Song prevented me from ever even mentioning it. You didn't meddle with a married couples affairs. Not even if it endangered your job.

However, one night the yelling got so loud that I had to bury my head into my pillow and pray that the children won't be woken up. I knew Mr Charles won't be awoken by it, he works far too many hours to sleep lightly, but the children, the excitable and cheeky children, I knew were quite light sleepers. Just when I was about to go over to check if they were alright, the yelling stopped. Stopped as suddenly as it had started.

I heard the neighbour's front door swing open, and then shut. Dashing over to the window and peeking behind the curtains, I could see the shape of Mrs Song walking into the night, carrying behind her a small bright blue suitcase.

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**Review please :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))**

**I need motivation to continue this, to be completely honest.**


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